Holy
by cougarlips
Summary: "You're just a ghost at most, a set of empty bones; Searching for anything and everything to make you feel whole when it gets cold." -PVRIS. Complete for now, but will most likely add as the series progresses.
1. Holy

a/n: Title and summary come from the song "Holy" by PVRIS.

* * *

Maggie and Carol, safe. Glenn, safe. Rick and Michonne, safe. Aaron, Tara, Gabriel, and Heath, safe. Abraham, Sasha, Rosita, safe. Andy, Jesus, safe.

Daryl made it an unconscious habit to do headcounts after runs and missions. He found it easier to function when he could visibly see his people, breathing and walking of their own accord, smiling and laughing as they reunited once more. True, after the ordeal inside the compound, after what happened to Maggie and Carol, he couldn't exactly say anyone was smiling or laughing as they reunited, but he could at least confirm everyone was safe and that the trek back to base would be with full numbers.

Rick took lead with Michonne, arms raised with his machete gripped tightly. The two spoke quietly to one another, their faces taut with furrowed brows and grimaces. Daryl claimed the rear, rifle drawn and poised as he continued overseeing his group.

Behind Rick and Michonne, Glenn gave in to his emotions and allowed the tears - born of shock, frustration, and terror - to stream out of his swollen, red eyes. In one hand he grasped his knife, while his other hand gripped Maggie's tightly. A short ways away, Tara didn't even bother to hide how overwhelmed she was, but she kept her meltdown as quiet as Glenn, keeping close to Rosita and Heath, who both offered to keep an eye out for her if anything turned south. Others attempted to wear poker faces, their faces stony and cold, but they cracked around the edges and gave way to their stifled fear.

Too much went down. Too much happened in the less-than-24-hours since they had left Hilltop, since they had left Alexandria. Abraham and Sasha seemed the only ones left with any fire left in them, aside from Rick and Michonne. Even the newcomers sagged with the weight of the dead on their shoulders.

Andy's eyes were glued open, his finger resting above the trigger of his gun as he walked forward, one foot falling in front of the other, his mouth tight and his chest heaving.

Jesus hung back, his eyes scoping their surroundings with his hands pocketed. Though the memory of the Sorghum truck lingered in the back of his mind, Daryl couldn't deny the man wasn't a beneficial addition to their group, especially tonight as he rescued nearly half of their numbers. Daryl watched as Jesus steadily lagged behind the rest of their people before joining him at the end of the line.

"Are you okay?" Jesus asked, carefully enunciating his quiet murmur, a line creasing between his eyes.

Daryl rolled his shoulders. "Been through worse than this," he replied.

Jesus looked at Daryl and frowned. "That doesn't answer my question."

"I'm _fine_ ," he pushed, hoping that he would drop the subject. Carol eyed him for a moment before Jesus nodded.

"I just wanted to let you know that you have an extra pair of eyes if you need them," Jesus commented.

Daryl grunted in response, nodding shortly.

They had less than a few miles left. He could deal with this trenchcoated man who was determined to help protect the lives of his exhausted people.

* * *

There was no celebratory party when they returned to Alexandria. No comforting gathering where everyone talked together over food and drink, music and entertainment. Everyone came back and greeted their loved ones left behind, and then they holed themselves up in their homes.

Daryl watched as Michonne and Rick embraced Carl and Judith; as Enid approached Maggie and Glenn with caution before she launched herself at them, worry evident in her young face; as Tobin greeted Carol and embraced her without a word. Denise and Tara ran for each other almost as quickly as Aaron and Eric did. Eugene bounced back and forth between Abraham, Rosita, and Tara, even _his_ eyes drooping with exhaustion.

It only took fifteen minutes for the streets to clear, and Daryl preferred this time more than any other to pace and patrol, still fighting the lingering horror that threatened to break his composure. Trembling fingers reached into his pocket to pull out a battered pack of cigarettes and a lighter. Before he could light it, however, a figure rustled in the darkness of the night in front of him. Narrowing his eyes and pocketing his stash, he raised the knife in his free hand and followed the figure.

Daryl quickly recognised it wasn't a walker that roamed the area - it padded too lightly against the concrete and left no sound as it made its way further into the community - but his mind was not at ease with the idea that a human was creeping around. Watching as the figure rounded a corner that had only one exit, Daryl made his own way toward the other end, knife still raised and hackles on edge.

From the dark alley, Daryl caught a short glimpse of beard and piercing blue eyes before grabbing the figure and throwing it against the concrete barricade. With one arm bracing its neck and the other holding a knife at the base of its throat, Daryl peered closely into the eyes of, who turned out to be, Jesus.

Hands lifted innocently, Jesus raised coarse eyebrows and stared into Daryl's eyes. "We're on the same side," he uttered.

"Why're you roamin'?" Daryl interrupted, though his nerves dulled as Jesus pierced him with his bright eyes.

Jesus's lip tightened in frustration before he took a deep breath and relaxed his features. "I could ask you the same questions," he said, tone cool on the surface. "We've been through enough shit today - your best friend has been through enough, so why are you out here when you could be in there with her?"

Daryl dropped his arms and Jesus visibly fell several inches from where Daryl had him pinned against the wall. With narrowed eyes, Daryl replied, "Someone ought to keep watch."

Raising his hand to point fingers at the watchtowers, Jesus motioned towards the Alexandrians who stood with their guns at the ready. "You _have_ people keeping watch. Or do you not trust them?" he questioned.

Jesus eyed Daryl seriously, staring up at him without a hint of amusement on his tanned face. "What's keeping you up at night, Daryl?" he asked, softly this time. He moved to face the other man, to look him in the eyes every time Daryl moved away. "You can't expect it to get any easier if you don't -"

"Don't _what_?" Daryl retaliated, now bristling with irritation. "If I don't _talk_ about it? Don't _cry_ over it? I got this far just fine."

"And with that attitude, this is as far as you're going to get," Jesus finished, meeting Daryl's gaze evenly now. "Turning off your emotions won't help matters any. All it'll do is turn you into a ticking time bomb."

Sneering at the shorter man, Daryl turned around and began walking away. He wasn't expecting the other man to call out after him: "Your hands have been shaking ever since you pinned me down, Daryl. Hell, they've been shaking since we left the compound with Maggie and Carol. You can't keep bottling all this in."

"You've known me for a _day_ , man," Daryl spat, spinning around to face Jesus. "Less than. You got _no_ right telling me what I can and can't do."

"But I'm right, aren't I?" he asked gently.

Daryl turned on his heel and walked away from the other man, cursing low under his breath as he fumbled once more in his pocket for his cigarette and lighter, damning Jesus because he was right, of course, and Daryl knew it.

Once he made it to Aaron's front porch, he realized with a bitter taste in his mouth that Jesus never answered his question.


	2. Blood in my Bones

a/n: Inspired loosely by Michonne's question/statement to Heath: "Have you ever been covered in so much blood that you didn't know if it was yours or walkers' or your friends'? Huh? Then you _don't_ know."

* * *

Daryl watched Rosita pull Tara aside the moment she and Heath entered the gates. As her grin subsided into a slightly more somber expression, Daryl turned away. He closed his eyes against her cries. His hands gripped the hilt of Beth's hunting knife as images of Denise's lifeless body, once again, made their way into his mind, as mirrors of Beth's small, pale body weaved in and out of his vision.

Pushing away from the steps, Daryl shouldered his crossbow - ignored the sickening lurch in his stomach, ignored how it felt so _wrong_ in his hands - and pocketed the knife. As the idle chatter resumed behind him, as the faint sobbing dwindled in the distance, he made his way towards the only other exit the community had to offer, climbing over the fence and dropping down with a dull thud as leather smacked dirt.

No matter how many times he washed his hands, he could never quite rid himself of the feeling of the blood that seemed permanently soaked inside his bones. Amy, Jim, Randall, Sophia, Dale, Merle, Hershel, Beth, and now Denise - the list seemed to grow ever longer as he survived. The people he bled for and who bled for him crawled into his dreams at night, blaming him for their murders in his nightmares for not owning up, for not doing what needed to be done, for not being there, for not stopping the conflict before it started.

As the moaning of the dead reached his ears, Daryl stooped low and lost himself in the physical labor, abandoned - if only temporarily - the nagging regret, the persistent "if only"'s in the back of his mind. As he took down walkers and their blood stained his clothes, he felt it only fitting that he look as tainted on the outside as he felt on the inside.

With each passing walker, visions danced between his eyes of Jim, his face white as a sheet and slick with sweat; of Andrea, her skin flushed with the hellish fever; of Sophia, so small as she stumbled out of the barn with dead eyes that bore into his; of Beth, her final deed being dealt with a smile on her stitched up face as her brain blew into chunks; of Denise, furiously choosing to live the second his own arrow pierced her brain.

He didn't notice when he started lagging behind the walkers, but he did notice when a leather-and-wool clad figure showed up to dispatch the remaining dozen.

"What the fuck?" Jesus exclaimed in lieu of a greeting. "Are you _trying_ to get yourself bit?"

Daryl shrugged, using his silence to gather his composure. He began collecting his arrows from the rotten skulls of the dead around him, wiping them carelessly on his jeans. Jesus stared as if waiting for an honest answer.

With a huff, Jesus nodded his head towards the community. "Rick asked me to find you. He says there's something he has to tell you."

He nodded and turned his back to the man, already slouching towards the entrance when Jesus grabbed his shoulder. Without thinking, Daryl grabbed his arm and threw him against the steel paneling, his hand pressing a still-bloodied arrow to the base of Jesus's throat. "Y'wanna try that again?" he snarled.

Jesus raised his hands in mock-surrender, though his eyes retained a steely nerve. "Keep going on this way and you're going to do _worse_ than get yourself killed," he warned venomously. "You feel guilty, but you refuse to talk to anybody. I never would've believed you to be such a dumbass, Daryl."

Daryl narrowed his eyes and pressed the arrowhead harder into the soft flesh underneath Jesus's bandana. "Look who's talk-" he began, but Jesus cut him off with a mirthless laugh.

"You don't know me well enough to tell me about how I cope with grief, so reverting to that defence mechanism is useless on me," he stated. "I don't know anything about you except you will do whatever it takes to keep your people safe. I understand that. I _get_ that. But you can't claim to know a damn thing about me, if that's what you're assuming."

Scowling heavily, Daryl let him go and opted to ignore the words he called out after him as he walked away, sloughing grey matter off of his weapons. His hands absently reached for Beth's hunting knife again. He took special care in cleaning the blade, much more than he did with his arrows, even going so far as to tearing a strip off of the hem of his shirt and soaking it in water to wipe it down. With a churning in his stomach, he noticed the flecks of dried blood on its hilt where Beth never could get it entirely clean.

Heaving, he put the knife away, put his arrows back in his quiver, and threw the rag into the dirt. If Jesus still walked behind him, it would've been a sight to see: Daryl Dixon breaking down in the middle of the forest over a dull hunting knife.

He expected a laugh or a scoff if the other man continued to walk with him - not a gentle hand on his arm and understanding permeating throughout deep blue eyes. When Jesus lifted his hand again and Daryl flinched, he watched that understanding fade into confusion and sadness before pulling away and taking several deep breaths.

Only a few more minutes and he'd be back at the entrance to talk to Rick. He regained his composure as he turned the corner and flagged Rosita to let him in.

Seeing Tobin's worried expression mirrored on Rick's face, Daryl felt his stomach drop. Jesus caught up with them just in time to see Daryl throwing a sheet of paper onto the ground and make a beeline for his motorcycle, kicking it started as Rick, Tobin, and even Glenn called after him.

"He's going to get himself killed!" Jesus overheard Glenn exclaim, eyes wide.

Jesus watched Daryl roar out of the community before he stopped to read the note that flitted towards the ground.

* * *

a/n 2: i'm writing and updating this fic as i see opportunities for these two to interact that would make sense if it actually happened in the show. does that make sense? i want it to be as canon-compliant as possible with what information we're given.

i wrote this before 6x15 aired so some detailed are kinda messed up, like the fact that daryl isn't even aware of carol having gone AWOL and the order of events are kinda jumbled. obviously, a _lot_ of details may get negated, but that's why i'm waiting to really update this until we see more of them interact as i want this as accurate as possible. when the finale airs, i'll almost certainly get more material to work with for other pieces if you liked this one :)


End file.
